


hunters moon

by sophthebi



Category: Alien vs Predator (2004), Aliens vs Predators Series - Various Authors, Predator Original Series (1987-1990), The Predator (2018)
Genre: Alien Sex, Aliens, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood moon, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hunting, Interspecies Sex, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation, Other, Smut, Yautja, canadian forests, fic is dark, reader goes through some stuff in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23542540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophthebi/pseuds/sophthebi
Summary: You're the last survivor in the end, taken as a trophy, but not for bones or skin.
Relationships: Yautja (Predator)/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 250





	hunters moon

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not entirely sure what this is lol.  
> Lately, I’ve been super interested and obsessed with the Yautja/Predators and Aliens franchise. I love these characters so much, literally my childhood. They’re just so cool haha  
> I rewatched Aliens vs Predator: Requiem after god knows how many years, and holy shit, the Yautja in that movie, hot damn, love Wolf, he’s *chef’s kiss*  
> The main Yautja in this fic is heavily inspired by Wolf’s character design and behavior.  
> I really wanted to make this fic dark, or so I hope so haha I’ve been wanting to see how dark I can write. There are a lot of dark things in it, so be warned. 
> 
> Also, I have written in some minor original characters, they aren’t fleshed out or anything sadly, admittedly I didn’t know how else to make it personal for the reader character.

The first to go missing was the man who knew what to do. Tall, fit, ex-park ranger, cartographer, resourceful. The man had survived a grizzly attack years back, told the story the first night of the expedition, around a fire, muscles and bone torn at by the mother after coming across two cubs in a national park somewhere in the West provinces. An intimidating man, scars to show, as well as a voice of someone you were supposed to listen to. Someone that nothing could defeat. Someone to be around in the wilderness. 

Wyatt was his name. You didn’t ever learn his surname, your uncle, not by blood but by friendship to your parents, never told you. Wyatt had taken your uncles surname when they married a year ago. Both were strong, formidable men. 

The moment the group realised he was gone early morning, the invincibility chipped away, loud and fast. His tracks led to a dead end, read by one of their friends - she was a hunter – and followed them into the thickening Tamarack trees, yellowing and saturating to a gold in certain lighting in the October season. The tracks stopped in a centre, and then disappeared. 

His radio was left behind at the camp, so was most of his equipment. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t routine. 

Panic set in, your uncle searching the forest floor for a whole day. Frantically clawing at leaves and roots, constantly radioing the rest of the group that remained at the camp. No sign of Wyatt. 

Evening, the sky was dimming, the air freezing, and the forest still. Birds made little sound, only the canopies above croaked and cracked as if something was nesting, or perhaps gracefully moving from one to another. You convinced yourself it was the breeze, but the look in Carla’s eyes, studying the tracks convinced you otherwise without meaning to. She was hesitant to speak, grip on her hunting rifle capable of breaking an arm. 

“Don’t look like that Carla, don’t… this doesn’t make sense. He’s not an idiot, there’s no other tracks.” He was growing frustrated, you were mostly numb, unsure of what to do with this nervous energy, the shaking in your limbs. All this energy with no release. 

“Jake. Listen to me, you need to get back to camp, this is doing no good and we’ve been out here all day. You’re tired, upset,” Carla said, eyes empathetic, tone understanding, “You need to radio the ranger station, get them to call the police.”

“Police?” You wish your voice was firmer than it was. A bit more pressure and you were sure to break from the stress alone. 

“He’s missing. This could be anything and we need to acknowledge that. He could be lost, unwell. Could be an animal attack or possibly even human-”

“I don’t need this. I don’t want to hear it.” Uncle Jake was storming off back to camp, radio at hand. You took this moment to join Carla’s side, to study what must be the tracks in the soil. You couldn’t tell a thing, but she could. And something alarming if you were to go by the stiffening of her body, hunched over and not from the cold. 

“What is it?”

“Whatever – wherever he was going – he was running.” She looked up at the trees, then into the sky. Stars were glittering. There were so many. “And he was limping. Badly. And see that?” Her gaze returned to the ground, into the trees.

“See what?” 

“Look by the base of that tree.”

You did. For moments, you didn’t see anything worth noting. Roots, fallen leaves, and maybe a strange discolouring of the bark… Wait, no. Not the bark. It wasn’t the tree, it was something … else.

Slowly, afraid of what you already knew it was, you left Carla’s side. Kneeling by the base of the tree, hand shivering in anticipation, fear screaming at you to run. An instinct you weren’t sure what the source was, just that it … was, and it was strong, primitive. Your fingers touched the dark red, almost brown substance staining the broken bits of tree, as if something heavy had been thrown at it. It was dry and almost a texture of paint, peeling off with waves of metallic smell, getting under your fingernails, reddening the tips of your fingers. 

Blood. 

It didn’t stop at that tree. It continued further into the darkness. The setting sun barely showing you its journey. From tree to tree. Bloodied handprints. 

How did Uncle Jake not see it? Or was he in denial?

“We have to find him.” 

Carla nodded, “Not us. It’s too dangerous, we wait for backup.”

“But he’s wounded, look at those hand prints. It’s been a whole day, maybe longer. You know it more than I do, if he isn’t dead already, he will be before tomorrow.” 

It was clear in her eyes what she believed. He was dead, or on the brink of it as you both stood there. Wild animals. The cold. Then there was finding him, or whatever was left. 

“And then there’s whatever wounded him,” Carla voiced aloud what you weren’t willing to dwell on. 

“But if it was a wild animal, like a bear or something, wouldn’t there be more blood, wouldn’t his body be here? Why do his tracks end so suddenly? This is so fucked, I don’t understand.” 

“He was thrown into that tree, got back up and kept going. Bears do chuck their prey around a bit, but you’re right. If it were a grizzly, he wouldn’t have made it far. There’s no other tracks here.” 

Your body froze, wouldn’t move like you wanted it to, hairs standing up from the back of your neck to your arms and legs. Carla’s posture stiffened, rifle aimed and ready to fire, her senses more refined than yours. Everything was silent. The sun was almost gone. It felt wrong. Like staring into a dark corner in a large room that you weren’t alone in with things searching behind you, for you, things that could see you, but not you them. As a child running up the stairs from the basement to escape the darkness and the monster chasing after you waiting for one little misstep, waiting for you to stumble, to show a weakness. The monster in your head would be thin and on all fours, twisted and disturbed, no longer human, like a starved wild creature, hungry and desperate, eyes milky and body lusting to delve its yellowed teeth into your little feet, your short legs. An easy prey. It’d rip you apart in bursts of red. But that wasn’t the true terror, it was after it had devoured you. It’d leave the basement, go after the ones you loved, and you wouldn’t be there to stop it. And even if you were there, you wouldn’t be able to stop it anyway. 

And it had already gotten out of the basement. 

Screams, gut-wrenching and a noise no living being should make sounded from the camp, and Carla was immediately ahead of you, sprinting back the way you came. 

It took moments, minutes for you to move. Stuck like a stump, alone, feeling a thousand stares from a thousand of those childhood nightmares, the canopies above rustling, sounds coming from darkness. You were heaving, tears falling, mingling with sweat. 

Then there was the clicking. 

You weren’t there long enough to find out the source of it, whatever it was. Sprinting and tumbling your way back to camp. Feeling like a creature was close enough to nip at your heels, rip them out to keep you from running. 

People were crying, shouting about someone in the trees. There was a burning smell, a forest fire taste on your tongue, maybe cooking meat, yet nothing pleasant about it, you weren’t salivating to its scent. The hiking group were running like animals, a pack of deer, finding cover. Someone was on the ground, gurgling, trying to breathe but drowning. That blood smell returned. 

There was no way of discerning who it was, their face was burnt, barely a face anymore, eyeballs frying like egg whites, seeping out of their sockets, a chunk of their head missing, you cried out at the sight, collapsing into a tent, breaking it. Carla was yelling for people to run, to follow her, her rifle was firing, shooting at trees. The sounds pierced into your ears. 

That gurgling. That poor person, not dead yet. The cries. The trees splitting, the ferocious crunch of bullets breaking them apart. Teeth grinding into each other, palms over your ears, you waited for it to stop. 

You weren’t aware of anything when someone grabbed you from the tent, dragging you along with them. Your name was repeated over and over, but nothing registered. Not until the screaming stopped. Not until your screaming stopped. 

It was Carla. 

The hiking group was separated into more than one cluster, but the radios were spread wide throughout them. By the time you and the group you were with deemed they were a safe distance, they turned on their radios, begging and pleading for response. There eventually was a response, the others had made it out too… most of them at least. 

For hours, you lay against a tree, numb and empty to the sight of Carla and the group trying to figure out what was happening. You still had no clue how Wyatt disappeared like that, where your uncle was, why that person’s face was…

You whimpered. It was embedded in your mind. 

“… Wasn’t a gun … some kind of energy-based weapon …more than one in the trees… couldn’t see them … could be an experiment … government … tried the radio … can’t get long distance … something interfering … need to get to the ranger station…” 

It was blurred, all blended. You weren’t able to take any of it in. 

Your name was whispered, again and again. Carla grasping your face in her bloodied hands. “We need to get to the station. Come on. You can do this.”

You shouldn’t have been there. You were lost. You were the person who was least likely to survive, and yet, one by one, the strongest of you all, Wyatt, Carla, your uncle, the hunters, the ones that could fight, that could push, that did this for a living, one by one, they were picked off. 

It was the rangers in the station your group found hung and skinned. Dripping blood from their naked flesh and veins and fat, dripping from the ceiling and down to their skin and clothes on the ground. At the time, you hadn’t known its meaning, at the time you hadn’t known what it was you were up against in the forests. 

Then it was Rachel next. She stepped on something. It sung an alien sound, exploded. She showered you and the survivors with her blood and flesh. In your eyes, in your mouth. And yet, you all kept running. It hurt more than anything to leave her behind. The other groups, they cried over the radio, shouting then silencing after bursts of energy erupted, metal hissing like blades, soft sounds and whimpers. That clicking, thinking it couldn’t get any worse, animal roars cut off the transmission. 

More than one.

More than one.

More than one. 

Hunted. 

Climbing steep mounds of rocks, loose and uneven, some died from the fall, not whatever was hunting you. Walking forever, running when someone accidently set in motion a trap. Day by day, in circles. Trapped. Caged.

Bodily functions hadn’t stopped for anyone. Feeling like a wild creature, hunger and thirst. More to your horror, blood seeped in your jeans, on your crotch and behind, forcing you to shed your jacket, wrapping it around your hips. No one cared. Truth be known, neither did you. Cramps were agonising but you couldn’t rest. Couldn’t stop moving.

Some bodies you came across were animal, bears, wolves, set up like trophies or perhaps warnings. Hung in trees, sheathed on stakes. Then there was Wyatt, without a skull or spine. A fluorescent green substance stained his broken body, under his nails, in his hair, as was his own blood. 

He put up a fight.

Your uncle was the next to be found in such a state.

“They’re not human.” Someone had announced, distant and never the same.

All Wyatt had ever done, all any of them had ever done was protect nature, these forests. Their deaths and burials in a place they had loved. Killed by something that didn’t belong. Something with twisted honour. Cruel. 

When it was Carla’s time, she had said she wanted to give you and the remaining survivors time to escape. She remained behind in a clearing, by the blue, calm lake. She crafted traps, heaved in terror. She was afraid but so willing. You asked to stay with her. She wouldn’t allow it. 

The lake was too cold to swim, you were forced to go around, find higher ground, towards the mountains, light a fire big enough to raise suspicion to anything human and living to come rescue you all. 

You still felt watched. Still heard that awful clicking, trilling, eyes in your back. No one noticed, no matter how many times you asked, it must have been inside your head. If you survived this, there would be too much grief and trauma to bear. You’d never forget the blood, autumn, the sounds a human can make when they’re in the most pain they have ever been in, when they are the most frightened, when they are the most desperate to survive. Trees above rustled. Huffing, whimpering it away didn’t help. 

An hour after leaving Carla, maybe more, the group stopped to hear her gunfire, her animalistic shouts, roars of something alien, something unnatural. Pain in its voice. There was pain in it. She had injured it.

Carla screamed one last time. Desperate to survive, but aware of her fate.

Then there was silence.

The group continued, you remained a moment longer, looking out to where she made her final place. A beautiful landscape of golden leaves, mountains hazy and giant, a lake so blue and wide it could be mistaken for the sea. You stood, hoping to hear her, for her to have lived. 

But she was gone.

Night came. How many days had it been? You lost count. But night returned, the same as always, only this night, there was a Hunter’s moon. Full and haunting, shining down on the valley in golden hue. You half expected a werewolf to jump out of nowhere. Wolves howled in the distance, that was enough for your imagination.

“The blood moon. The hunt begins,” a man laughed as the four of you practically stumbled in exhaustion in no purposeful direction. “Maybe we should tell them they fucked their timing up.” 

His joke was cut short. A hiss of something sharp, a disk like shape flew into view, whatever it was, maybe the moon, adrenaline burned awake inside you.

“Get down!” You had managed to shout while falling to your face and stomach into hard rocks and sticks. The man who had laughed hadn’t made it in time, blood splattered, drenching you and the others. 

The blood moon shone down upon the three of you. And in the corner of your eye, in a tree, a silhouette glittered. Not completely visible, but a shape. Trilling. A branch creaking. 

“We have to run. We have to,” you whispered to the other two. “They’re in the trees. We have to keep low and run like fucking crazy.”

“There’s nothing to run to,” a woman whispered back, “the only place to run to is off this rock. This is a dead end. We run; we die from the fall.”

“We stay here, we die. Same result. I’d much rather fall to my death than be fucking ripped to shreds.” The man defended. 

The figure watched over you, soon there was another. They were waiting for the chase. Hunters. 

Predators. 

There was no chance of outrunning. 

But the gleam of the moon, it gave you sight. It did something, mutating your fear into a rage and frustration that had you growling under your breath, blood flaking off of you, cuts and bruises, gore of the ones you cared for, dirtied nails digging into the ground.

“Run.” 

They didn’t show any sign of doing as you said, so you shouted it. Growled it out, grabbing a sharp rock and rolling to your side to get a better view of the shadows in the trees just as a red laser attached itself to you, a blast of energy erupted from the tree but missed your body by a hair, hurling you into a boulder. 

Head pounding, vision came back slowly, but quick enough to make out the two survivors sneaking away, a small smile, trembling as they got away. Another blast of energy and the boulder exploded, shards of it punching into your body and hauling you again, this time into something wet.

Mud.

Roars, angry and impatient came from them. You attempted to pull yourself up but fell back down into the sludge. 

You wouldn’t have looked human, perhaps a sight more akin to childhood nightmares, more terrifying than even the creatures that were searching for you, trilling to one another.

Why couldn’t they see you?

You wanted to laugh, to scream, to shout for them to end it, but instinct took over and you began clawing your way out of the hole in the ground, crawling with a desperation that frightened you, hands bloodied and shining like dark ink under the yellow moon. 

The only end you knew you had was the edge of the cliff. A quick death or maybe, maybe too idealistic, survival. They continued to search for you, their footsteps shaking the entire ground beneath you. They were big, unintentionally loud when no longer hunting. They just wanted the kill now.

So close to it, to the rapids below. Not far. 

A howl reverberated through the rock beneath, then into your bones. 

You didn’t make it.

A large hand grasped it’s needle like nails into your scalp, lifting you like a skeleton, an artefact that you’d soon become, legs dangling in the air. You couldn’t see it. Not really.

It smelt of death and war and violence. 

You didn’t want to give it the satisfaction but you couldn’t withhold the screams of agony as it held you like a captured rabbit, by your hair, ripping at your scalp in bundles of aches. Your hands scratched at its skin, its other hand circled around your neck, almost comical how thin and fragile you were within its grip, it began pulling down, applying pressure, straining your neck.

You would have laughed at the sight of this in a horror movie. The overkill of it, the horridness of it too outlandish to take seriously. A monster trying to rip someone’s head from their body, but it turned out it wasn’t as funny when it was your own head. Turns out it felt realer than anything ever had. 

It was tugging on you, teasing, you gasped and gurgled for air. It wanted you to feel every bit of it. It laughed. Its laugh not so different from a man’s. Deep and guttural. And worse yet, it was youthful, intelligent. No, it sounded familiar. 

Mimicking. 

Pale yellow shone, and like a wild creature, a beast inside howling just like this creature had before, transforming into a monster, you managed to grab its hand around your neck and latch your teeth into the flesh. Deep, hard, you pressed your teeth down, locked your grip, the hand in your hair let go, causing you to drop. The creature trilled, surprised. Before it could react, you ripped your teeth away from its hand, tearing away flesh, tough skin and plentiful blood, thick and much like your own. 

You fell into a heap but launched at it like something feral, now that you could see glimpses of this being. 

Tall, over seven feet, your head reaching below its chest. Shaped like a man, it was male, dressed in primitive armour and mask, but equipped with advanced technology, a hybrid of ancient and future. 

If it bleeds, it can die.

Reaching for anything sharp, finding nothing but sticks and rocks, the creature managed to get a hit in, punching into your hip. At first it didn’t process as a punch, more akin to a bowling ball being pegged into your body. You squealed out, agony wavering throughout your nerves, body slowing into a paralysis state. Tears blinded you as did the sludge you had been dragged through. Blood of friends, blood of the creature, blood of the earth you lay on, moaning all this torture out of your system. His blood swirled in your mouth, sat on your tongue as you pushed to your hands and knees. His blood… A warrior.

The moon was brighter than ever. 

More than one of them. The trilling, the communicating. Which one would take the kill?

In your peripheral vision, two others had come to join your side, no longer camouflaged, but there in the flesh, tall, although not as tall as the one who’s blood you had swallowed. 

“Please … Do it quick…” 

Did they even understand? 

A wrist blade unsheathed, glittering like a treasure, beautiful and befitting for a warrior. Perhaps it did have honour, a strange honour. It trilled again, pleasantly this time, kneeling down to you, still gigantic in comparison to your small human body.

He raised his arm, you whimpered, lips trembling, eyes closed tight, waiting for the strike. 

It never came. No hiss of serrated metal, no excruciating pain from a blade inside your spine. 

No.

Something else.

A clicking. Not unlike what you had first heard in the thick trees, where Carla studied Wyatt’s tracks. The thing that followed you ever since then. Deeper. The blade was sheathed again, and the creature left your side, bowing his head, then walking away as if nothing had occurred. The other two following loosely behind him, in the direction the survivors went…

“No! Take me!” You screamed, spitting saliva and blood, dribbling it down your chin, into your hair. A presence hovered over your pitiful body, curious, hungry, desiring a challenge. If you were a cat, your back would have spiked up. 

That same clicking. Almost like that of a bird trying to communicate to you, it wasn’t though, it was contemplating something to itself. How it’d deal with you probably. 

You wanted to see the creature that had murdered Wyatt, as it murdered you, so you rolled onto your back. 

Tall, like the others, a giant shadow of something greater than you could ever be. Simmering with chaos and order at once, powerful, not ever prey. 

Yet there was something different. 

Leaner than the others, and despite being a creature so far from human, you could feel his dominance, his authority over even the other predators. You stared into where you believed his eyes were behind that mask… eyes… what would their eyes look like? How human were they? Would you recognise anything in them if he showed you? 

There was silence. He stared just as you did. You could feel it, his gaze. He felt yours too.

Skin dark and textured, but not so alien, muscles beneath thick skin threatening violence, yet promising agility, gracefulness like a dancer. Beautiful almost. He breathed softly, chest rising and falling without fear of harm, hypnotic in a way. Your breathing began to synchronise with his, a calm washing over you. His legs long and strong, capable of crushing your skull without much pressure. Hair… no, dreadlocks of some kind, dark and long. An eerie familiarity of it all. 

What did he see when he looked down at you? 

Prey.

He knelt to the ground, no hesitance, no alarm, there was nothing that could hurt him, but it wasn’t arrogance. There was nothing arrogant, only strength. Scars littered his body, his mask. Fear wasn’t your influence anymore, awe was. A morbid kind of it. You knew death awaited somewhere on this linear path, somewhere near. If you had no care, you would have reached out to touch him. To know more of what was going to bring you your death. But part of you did still care, part of you was rageful and prepared to sacrifice anything to live. 

He reached a hand behind his back, pulled a shimmering object that hissed. A weapon, a blade, like a sword. 

Expecting him to plunge it into your heart, the shock of him grasping your small hand in his and placing the handle of the sword in it was enough to awaken your body, your mind. Everything was clearer, your senses exploding with a vividness you had never felt. 

Time passed quickly then.

The creature had stood from you, activating his own wrist blades, circling you where you lay, waiting. Waiting like a predator for a movement of his prey. 

He wanted to fight. You wanted to scream at him. You had no way of fighting him. 

“I can’t fight you. Just kill me!” 

He growled behind his mask, stopping in his tracks. There was no other choice. Your decision was made for you. 

The fight was cruel, brutal, but not unlike a dance, a waltz, twisted and bloody. 

He was going easy on you in the beginning, you exerting all your energy just remaining on two feet, let alone taking wide, chaotic swings at him. He barely had to move whenever you tried to take a hit. He trilled, almost encouraging you to continue. Teasing. You became frustrated, rageful, beginning to growl not unlike him and quickening your pace, not really knowing what you were doing. He had to quicken his pace, but there was so exhaustion from him, not a hitch in his breath. You were heaving and yelling and growling, drooling blood and spit. That’s when he made his first strike, not fast enough that you hadn’t seen it coming, but aggressive enough that when his blades met yours, you plummeted to the ground in a heap, whimpering, fatigued and with nothing left to give. 

He was testing you, making your end the worst it could ever be. Is this what he did to Wyatt? To your uncle? 

The moment he lingered too close, you swung at his leg, managing a gash into his thigh, he trilled at your action, launching his blades where you were only a moment before jumping to your feet. Another hit, and you had slashed at his chest, the bright green spluttering into your face. He growled, roared. Blades were clashing, you were constantly falling down and crawling back up. His blades slashing into your arms and abdomen and back, leaving bleeding lacerations and your clothes reducing into nothing. Another hit and your blade was gone, as was his. He had grabbed you, you flailed, screamed, scratching at him, kicking and punching, he was clawing and choking and ensnaring you with his hands, pressing you into him, a battle of dominance, who could devour the others fight. 

Sweater ripped to shreds, leaving you shivering and vulnerable to his claws, breasts and stomach without protection. His hand tightened around your neck, claws dragging down your sternum, to your hips, leaving marks, wrenching away the jacket from around your hips. This wasn’t just about the hunt anymore. 

It was something else. Something that churned in your stomach. 

Your nails dug into his chest, his into your back bringing you close, breasts pushing into his stomach, he was warm, so very warm, almost comforting. Purring came from his mask, soft, gentle trilling. 

He could smell it on you, the blood, the earth, the fear. Your blood… 

Mistaking it for something it wasn’t, awakening something in him, purring and warming up, scratching deeper into you, wanting you to hurt him too, fighting over dominance, not over one’s fight, but something else entirely. He wanted to win it. His thighs finding their way between your legs. You tried to fight it, pushing at him, mumbling no’s and pleases over and over to no avail. He got sick of it quickly, wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing till you couldn’t think, couldn’t feel, veins bulging. 

You had fainted in his grasp. Dreamt of the forest in the meantime, in the darkness. Dreamt of wolves and bears and elk and trees, of blood, green and red, mingling. Dreamt of a creature taking everything from you like a trophy. 

When you awoke, it wasn’t on a cliff, in a forest. It was somewhere warm and dark, synthetic, metal, alien. A large room filled with technology you were too tired to comprehend, you knew immediately you were in his territory, surrounded by skulls and spines, lying naked and scarred but clean on a bench like meat ready to be butchered for the perfect cut. Was he going to take your bones? Your skin? 

You were aching too much to move, to run, to escape, instead waiting for him like a desperate animal to release you himself. 

He eventually did return; you knew it was him. Lean and covered in scars, old and new, someone else’s and yours. He was nearly as vulnerable as you, his armour missing, only a cloth over his genitals, no mask. If you had had the energy, you would have laughed at how horrendous his face was, at first at least. He did have eyes after all, hard to read, his mouth … You whimpered at the sight, visibly unnerved by his features. He looked to feel the same about yours. Recognising your body yes, your breasts and your softness, a human female just as you recognised his body, hard and strong, but ultimately unnerved by your features. There was mutual disgust, fear on your side, control on his, as he skimmed his fingers up and down your bruised ribs, to your breasts. Mandibles on his mouth clicking, you gasping and breathing far too loud, afraid and disturbed, curious too. 

Claws leaving your breasts for your naval, the width of your waist, to your hips, squeezing and studying what he could mould and what he couldn’t. Small moans left your mouth without your want, he trilled. 

You shouldn’t have arched your back when his fingers lingered by your bloodied thighs. Shouldn’t have been so receptive to his touching and eyes.

For a moment you figured he had taken you for mating reasons, to breed, but his disgust contradicted it. He wasn’t interested in creating life with you, regardless it was impossible, you could see that in his eyes. It’d birth only pain and death; it wasn’t biologically possible, especially now of all times. 

This was of his own selfish interest, nothing necessary. 

Your lower stomach cramped, blood slickening your crotch and he was so very fascinated by it. Confusing him perhaps, between sex and violence, touching gently and penetrating soft flesh with knives and carnage. 

He was educated in some of your body, whatever his species was, perhaps they had a female equivalent, made you wonder if they were as violent, if one was here, would she be appalled, would she help you. Or would she see you less than living. 

He stole your hand from your side, guiding it to his chest. Hot, firm and with a heartbeat so inhuman you couldn’t snatch your hand away even if you wished to. He guided your hand further, down his stomach, hard and defined, no fat, to his hip bone. You made noises, moans and whimpers, he shivered under your touch, even more so when your hand was under the cloth. 

He hunched over, you wet your lips with tongue and tears, trembling with shame and desire. One hand by your outer thigh, the other… The bench beneath you rumbled as he moved back and forth, following your hands. You thought it’d end soon, but it wasn’t enough for him.

Not once did he linger his gaze on your face, let alone your eyes, perhaps just as ashamed as you, maybe for different reasons than yours. 

He got on top of you, attempting to keep as much of his weight off of you in the fear of crushing your body, bringing his hand behind your back, lifting you up to him, into his warmth. You had no choice once more, grasping onto his shoulders, crying softly in-between moans. He was inside, coated by blood and pleasure. Pushing in and out gently, then fast and hard, losing control. Growling mingled with your grunts. 

He’d visit you often, gentle to you. He’d feed you, keep you hydrated, never gave you clothes. You suppose it wasn’t necessary, not when he only visited to be on top of you. But soon that changed, him behind you, claws digging into your hips, into your ass. Then that too changed, you on top of him. He preferred it when you were rough and without mercy, perhaps reminding him of his kind. 

You didn’t want this. You didn’t ask for this. To be a trophy, a specimen to prod and test, to play with. When he wasn’t there, you’d think back to the hunters moon, it’s golden hue, and imagine jumping from that cliff, into the freezing rapids.


End file.
